Will we Age? Yes. Grow old? Let's not. I think that ageless philosopher, Satchel Paige, had it about right when he asked, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was? This is a "magazine" blog comprised of stuff that interests me and I hope interests some of you, too.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

A Rather Short Story

Choosing Sunrise Who knows how many words have been written about sunrises. Or how many paintings, or photographs. Or, in the age of video, how many times, from start to finish, has Earth's opening ritual has been captured. But seeing it with your own eyes is still seeing it for the first time.

She arrived on the beach when it was still too dark to see the ground and she bruised her feet on shells and rocks. She went forward though, until her feet felt the edge of the water and then she sat on the damp sand. She felt the water come forward and go back, but couldn't yet see it.

It starts with a glow, really, making it look like it’s the sea which illuminates the Earth.Then a few golden-yellowish rays shoot forward, like sentries coming to see if this area is ready to be lit. Finally, the almost indistinguishable shape begins to rise and, even with its tiny tip, it begins to fill up the whole world with light almost immediately. It did this this day it seems to let Ellen know that it (and other things) were much bigger than her or even this planet. She got the message and because of the Sun's debut, her body began to warm.

Somewhere, almost 17 miles away, her daughter was knocking on her door because it was time to go to the doctor. More tests. Ha! Ellen had, for weeks, contemplated writing her daughter a letter.Telling her what it was and that, for centuries, whenever someone in their family had it in their brain, it had never been anything else but a slow, painful death. She wanted to tell her that you have to live life and not spend so much (or any) time worrying about the end... because it will end. Worry instead about being able to maintain a closeness with those around you.

But she didn't write it, the letter, not one word. Because had her mother written such a letter before the screams of agony and writhes of pain began, Ellen would've discarded it as the final, senseless blathering of a dying old lady.The daughter would have to figure it out for herself and, hopefully, like Ellen, before it became too late.

The oxycodone began to kick in — she took triple her day's prescription this time — so, no pain but she felt the need to lie down, first resting her elbows on the sand, then bringing her whole body down.The soft, damp sand made a surprisingly comfortable bed and she wondered why she had never done this before, slept on the beach. Her eyelids grew heavy and she closed them for a moment.

The red hue of the Sun was still visible in her mind and she quickly opened her eyes again to see it.Yes, she thought squinting at the fully emerged Sun, it's one sight we haven't been able to ruin yet. She was drifting now and smiled because it didn't hurt, not at all. Her last, pleasant thought was that they may never find her out here and that that was okay.